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Deep breaths, I told myself. Just because you’re not in control doesn’t mean you can’t feel balanced.

  I slept fitfully and woke up before dawn the day of the draft. The other top picks and I had so much to do that day: interviews, meetings, photo shoots, promotional events, and more. To prepare for them I had to get my hair and makeup done, change outfits at least three times, review and memorize TV scripts, and make sure I was on time to the bus that would take me around the ESPN studios. I wasn’t a total TV newbie—I’d been filmed playing in high school and college and had done postgame interviews—but draft day was different. It was a prime-time celebrity event, and the butterflies in my stomach were going crazy because of it.

  Just before eight p.m., Brittney, Skylar, nine other women, and I walked into one of ESPN’s brightly lit studios, sat in high-backed chairs facing a stage, and waited for the cameras to start rolling. My dad was on my right, and my mom was on my left, and before I even got comfortable, I heard a woman’s voice booming through the studio as she welcomed everyone.

  Then she moved on to business.

  “For the first pick in the 2013 WNBA draft, the Phoenix Mercury choose . . . Brittney Griner!”

  Like I said, Brittney’s getting chosen first by Phoenix was hardly a surprise. She was so sure, she’d even painted her nails orange, their team color! She wasn’t unfazed about being a guaranteed pick, though. As the audience started clapping and cheering, she stood up, broke out into a huge smile, and hugged the people she’d brought with her. Then she walked up to the stage to be photographed holding a Phoenix jersey, looking like the happiest person in the room.

  The next team to pick would be the Chicago Sky. Their head coach, Pokey Chatman, worked with a team in Moscow in the WNBA off-season, so she had to announce her pick at six a.m. Russia time. Apparently she’d been up all night, and I imagined that she felt as worn-out as I did.

  It’s going to be Skylar, I thought. I’m sure of it. She’s from Indiana, so she’s practically a hometown girl. Everyone loves her. She’s an amazing player, and she’s just what the Sky need. I know you want Chicago, Elena, but disappointments can be good for you. They help keep you grounded and your life balanced.

  Skylar wasn’t the only thing worrying me, though. The team’s questions about my Lyme disease kept coming back into my mind. I knew I had my health under control, but a flare-up could happen at any time, without notice. Was that too much of a risk for them?

  The little voice in my head spoke up again. It’s the issue in your life that’s most out of your control, which is why you have to let it go. There’s nothing you can do.

  Suddenly I realized that having no control meant that everything—the good and the bad—was unexpected. And if something really great happens when you don’t see it coming, that’s the best surprise in the world!

  I was on pins and needles, about to find out if that would happen to me.

  Pokey had started talking, but none of us could hear her because the television monitor she was on was offstage. Instead the woman at the podium heard the name in her earpiece, and after she finished listening, she lowered her head to the mike.

  “With the second pick in the 2013 WNBA draft, the Chicago Sky pick . . . Elena Delle Donne from the University of Delaware!”

  I think people started clapping, but honestly, I’m not sure. I was too busy listening to the sound of my breath coming up from my lungs and out of my mouth. I’d been holding it for what felt like a minute. Then, as I pushed back my chair to stand, my mom and dad rose with me, and I hugged them tight.

  This is one of the happiest moments of my life, I told myself. It’s what I wanted. It’s what I’ve been working toward forever. But, wow, it’s a lot to take in.

  I didn’t realize it then, but I’d be feeling that way for a while.

  Chapter Twenty

  Moving to Chicago

  When I was sitting in the ESPN studio, waiting to hear my name called, with my parents quietly sitting beside me, I felt like time was standing still. I heard Brittney’s name, and I saw lights flashing, and then the silence that followed seemed to swallow me. My thoughts were focused on one thing: when my name would be called. I was living in a moment that was encased in three words: “Elena Delle Donne.” And when I heard those words, it was like a balloon popped in my head.

  Now things are happening. My life is moving forward, and it has swept me up fast.

  I walked onto the stage to claim my Chicago Sky jersey and take photographs. Then I was ushered into a back room to do a few interviews. When I watch them now, I agree with everything I said, because it’s absolutely how I felt at the time. I was thrilled to be chosen by Chicago. They were the team I’d wanted, and getting to play in the WNBA was a dream come true.

  Plus, I was so ready—emotionally and physically. My brother, Gene, had been psyching me up for weeks, saying things like “We have to get you mentally tough. Let’s do Kobe’s workout.” He even brought out boxing gloves during one practice session to prepare me for all the body contact I’d face in the WNBA.

  Being ready doesn’t mean you can’t feel overwhelmed, though—especially when everyone around you is focusing on your future. Reporters were quizzing me on how I’d fit into the Sky, whether I thought I could take them to the play-offs for the first time in their history, and how I felt about moving away from Delaware, a place I’d lived my entire life. Every question being thrown my way was about a month from now, not the present, and it was starting to make my head spin. So I decided to pause for a moment and think about what joining the WNBA meant to me.

  I need to appreciate what I’ve been given just for now. This is a huge second chance.

  When I’d left UConn five years before, I’d thought basketball was over for me. But here I was now, at the top of the sport. In five years I’d learned and grown so much. I’d become a different person, and that was a true gift.

  One thing I’ve learned since I burned out at UConn is that I’m not the only person who forgets to live in the moment. Far too many kids are taught that the future is all that they should think about. It’s a target or goal to reach, and they have to practice, study, or prepare for it every hour of every day. That kind of thinking is toxic, and it ignores all that you do—and all that you can be proud of—in the moment. In my opinion, it’s also a surefire recipe for burnout.

  That’s why I was allowing myself to close my eyes and be thankful, if only for a few seconds. When I opened my eyes, I faced the reporters’ questions, and suddenly I felt 100 percent prepared to think and act on my future.

  The beginning of the WNBA season was in May, and it was already mid-April. I’d officially graduated in the fall, but I was still taking classes—which was required for me to stay eligible for the draft—so I’d have to finish them and take my finals. Then I’d have to pack up my dorm room, pick and choose what I wanted to take from home to Chicago, find an apartment, move, and start practicing with the Sky. Our first game was May 25!

  But, again, I was so thankful I’d gotten a second chance to play the sport I loved, so I told myself I should just roll with it. This was a decision I’d made, on my own terms and after years of consideration. I was prepared.

  I was also flooded with emotion. Except for the two days I’d lived in Connecticut, I’d spent my entire life in Delaware, and it was home. I loved it with every bone in my body. I knew my parents and Gene would be able to fly anywhere to see my games, but Lizzie wasn’t very mobile, and sitting in a crowded, smelly stadium for hours would be too disruptive for her. I had to accept that I’d be seeing her a lot less.

  There was no way around it. Leaving her was going to break my heart. But if I wanted to continue to grow, and to do what I was sure, deep in my heart, was my life’s calling, I had to accept that.

  I cried when I hugged and kissed Lizzie good-bye, and I cried when I boarded the plane to Chicago. When I moved into the apartment I’d found—the first place I’d live on my own, as a real grown-up—I missed her so much
my heart hurt. But I knew I’d see her as soon as I got a break, and I’d make every moment count.

  • • •

  Because practice started right away, I had no time to soak up my surroundings, explore my neighborhood restaurants and shops, or even learn much about this brand-new place that was so much bigger than where I’d spent my life. Chicago was such a strange, foreign land that everything surprised me, even obvious stuff that now makes me laugh when I think about it.

  For example, only a day or so after I arrived, I was riding in a car toward a preseason interview when I looked out the window and saw a massive body of water looming in the distance.

  Wait, there’s an ocean here? I thought, lost in wonder. Then I shook my head when I realized how silly I was being. That’s Lake Michigan, dummy. You just had no idea a lake could be so big.

  People were friendly and welcoming, though. My teammates, coaches, and the Sky organization seemed to want to take care of me and make me feel at home. With them on my side, being in a new place, far from my family, didn’t feel as terrifying as it had when I’d gone to UConn, and I was excited in a way I hadn’t expected. Maybe this is easier because I’m growing up, I thought. I’ve come a long way in five years.

  It was also easy not to think too much about home because I was so busy. There was an incredible amount to do as we got ready for our first game against the Phoenix Mercury, a team that had as much to prove as we did.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Toss Out Your Expectations and Make Goals

  Expectations can be a terrible thing for a person. If you put them on yourself—for example, if you just expect that you’ll get into a certain college because your grades and scores are so good—you might feel like a failure if you don’t do so. If someone else puts them on you—say, your mom is certain that you’ll get into the play you auditioned for—you might feel like you disappointed that person if you don’t get the part. Much of the reason I burned out when I was eighteen was because I had so many expectations put on me, by myself and by too many people in my life. So when I was in college, I discovered a way to think of expectations a little differently.

  Rather than calling them expectations, I started to imagine them as goals. Goals are hopes for the future. They’re positive things that inspire you, not negative things that stress you out. “Goal” implies potential and big dreams, not scary things with crazy, impossible deadlines.

  When I was drafted into the WNBA, I told interviewers that one of my goals for the year was to help get Chicago into the play-offs. They’d finished the previous season with a disappointing 14–20 record, which was the worst in the WNBA and so low that they knew midway through the season that they likely wouldn’t make it to the postseason. Morale was still low from having that losing record the year before, but adding me—a top pick in the draft—injected some hope.

  I was determined that I wouldn’t buckle from the pressure.

  No one is forcing you to push the Sky into the play-offs, I told myself. That would be crazy. It can’t be all on you. But you can do everything possible to help make that happen. It’s a goal you can work toward.

  I walked onto the court for my first game against the Phoenix Mercury already dreaming about the play-offs. Sure, it was only day one of the season, but there was no harm in me imagining the cheering crowds that would fill the stadium if the Sky got into the postseason. I knew I could live in the moment, focusing on winning this one game, and still be excited that our season might end on a huge high note. Having goals doesn’t mean that you ignore the moment you’re in. It just means that you savor it and still dream about something bigger and brighter.

  As I said before, Chicago was coming off a losing season, but Phoenix’s had been terribly disappointing too. They’d finished the previous year with a 7–27 record—the second worst in the WNBA. They needed dominant players, so they snatched up Brittney Griner in the draft. She wasn’t the only big name there, though. Diana Taurasi, who’d been a superstar at UConn a few years before I got there and was one of the most celebrated women in WNBA history, had been with Phoenix since she’d gone pro in 2004.

  Brittney and Diana were massive talents, and I’d be going head-to-head against them for the first time in my career. Was I nervous because of that? Sure. Who wouldn’t be? But having a goal means that you have to face all the scary feelings that come with the possibility of success. I accepted the butterflies in my stomach, begged them to calm down just for a bit, and then stood with my teammates to walk onto the court, more excited than I’d ever been in my life.

  First, though, I went through two of my tried-and-true pregame rituals.

  For as long as I can remember, I’ve always bought a pack of gum before games. It’s always the same brand: one of the Wrigley flavors. I go to the store, spend more time than I should staring at the packs of gum in the candy aisle, and then finally settle on the one that speaks to me. I can’t explain what it is about the particular pack of gum I like. It might be the flavor or just where it’s positioned in the row, but all I know is that I have to feel it.

  No one is allowed to touch my gum, and if they do, I have to throw it out. I worry sometimes that I won’t have time to buy a new pack, so I’ve started hiding it in my locker just to be safe. Then right before each game, I take out a piece, put it into my mouth, and begin to chew it. Who knew good luck tasted like mint? I might say to myself. If the game’s going well, I’ll keep chewing. But if we’re losing by the half, I’ll spit out my gum and start all over with a new piece.

  My second pregame ritual will probably make more sense to you—and make me seem less crazy!

  When I was twenty, I got a tattoo of Lizzie’s name on my left rib cage. I chose that spot because I wanted the tattoo to be my little secret, like it was a special thing that made her truly a part of me. But the placement also makes sense, now that I think about it. Lizzie is right next to my heart all the time.

  Lizzie couldn’t be at my first WNBA game, which wasn’t a surprise or at all unusual. But my dad was front and center in the stands, prepared to cheer me on the whole time. Since the game was in Phoenix, though, he was one of the only Chicago fans. The rest were all about the Mercury, and they were pumped—not just because it was the beginning of a season but also because Brittney Griner brought a special skill that few people ever see in a women’s basketball game.

  At 6'8", Brittney is one of the only WNBA players who dunk during a game. In the heat of play, most female players can’t extend themselves high enough to reach a ten-foot basket. Candace Parker and Lisa Leslie have also dunked midgame, and I could, technically, but my vertical isn’t even close to theirs. I’ve also never had the opportunity. I can only dunk if it’s the start of the game, I’m super-fresh, and I have a clear path to the basket. Brittney, on the other hand, dunks like she could do it in her sleep. She did it all throughout college, and Phoenix fans were banking on the fact that she’d do it again during her first regular season appearance.

  From the minute the whistle blew, the game was all ours. We made basket after basket, and I could tell right away that Phoenix was getting frustrated. Forget dunking; our defense was so strong that Brittney could hardly get a shot in. We kept drawing fouls on her too, and by the end of the first quarter she was almost in foul trouble with three under her belt. Three more and she’d be out of the game. By the time the halftime buzzer rang, we’d allowed her to get only two points on the board, and we were up by twenty-four points.

  No need for a second piece of gum, I thought. Thank you, Lizzie!

  We dominated in the second half just as we had in the first. Even though Brittney got her much-anticipated dunk in in the fourth quarter (and it was one-handed!), and then again in the last minutes of the game (a two-hander!), we still won the game by a huge stretch. It was 102–80 when the buzzer rang.

  It was amazing. There was no other way to put it. Even though I scored twenty-two points throughout the game—the sixth-best in a WNBA start—the game
hadn’t all been on my shoulders. Epiphanny Prince, who’d been playing professionally for three years, was the team leader with twenty-six points, and she rallied all of us toward the beautiful victory we had.

  As I walked back into the locker room, dizzy from excitement, my head was exploding with all the possibilities that could happen in my first year playing professionally. After all, I had a goal to reach, and I knew that couldn’t happen unless I started to think of basketball—and my life—differently than I ever had before.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Living and Playing Differently

  By the end of the first ten games of my rookie season with the WNBA, I knew I was playing some of the best basketball of my life. I was dominating across the court, I was frequently the league leader in free throws, I was averaging almost twenty points a game, and during almost every game I had one or two blocks that helped turn the tide of play around. Chicago was 7–3 overall and undefeated at home, and the media was calling us the team to beat in 2013. What a difference that was from the year before!

  I’d been on a lot of great teams in my life. Ursuline had won state championships, and UD had made it to the Sweet Sixteen, but in both of those cases I’d been playing with women around my age. In the WNBA, players were often older than me—some of them by six, seven, even eight years. These players were world famous, too. Look at Diana Taurasi, for example. I’d idolized her in high school!

  On the Sky, I was practically the baby of the team. Swin Cash had been playing professionally for eleven years and had just gotten back from the Olympics; Sylvia Fowles had been with the Sky for five years; and Epiphanny Prince wasn’t that much older than me, but she’d played in Europe for a year when I was still close to home in Delaware. She brought a worldview that I’d experienced only when I’d played in the World University Games.

  I’m learning something from these veterans, I realized. This is awesome.